


How Much Do You Actually Know About Angels?

by coughingupfeathers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Other, Reader Insert, parental death?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-13 14:34:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2154201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coughingupfeathers/pseuds/coughingupfeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The reader's dad has gone missing and left his old journal behind. The old book contains the instructions of how to summon an angel, and there's some mysterious symbols written in it that the reader can't identify... </p><p>What will come of it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Much Do You Actually Know About Angels?

**Author's Note:**

> Originally inspired by this imagine -- http://supernaturalimagine.tumblr.com/post/79348794274/anon-sam
> 
> I've never written a reader insert before this. Hope you like it~

You set the last things in place, shivering a little from the cold night air. You took a final look at the display laid out in front of you, cross-checking everything with the diagram in the withered, tattered old book to your right. Yes… according to the diagrams, everything was in the right place. Time to see if this crazy book was just something written down by a madman, fuelled by drugs and insanity, or… actually had something to it.

You lay the book down on the old, rickety wooden table next to the display that you’d laid out. You reached a hand inside your jacket, fumbling around in your pockets until you found the packet of matches. You fiddled about with the packet, slipping it open and attempting to withdraw a single one. You managed it, but not without spilling half the packet out onto the floor first. You shrugged, not bothering to pick the other ones up. It was bitterly cold, and you were tired. It was a wonder that you’d managed to put all of this together properly.

Holding the box shut and preparing to strike the match, you paused. You took a moment to think about just how stupid everything was. It was something like eleven o’clock at night and you were in an abandoned barn. And you were preparing to summon an angel, of all things. You couldn’t help but ridicule yourself. Likelihood was, this was all ridiculous and you’d just be standing there in front of a ritualistic display.

You pushed those thoughts from your mind. What if it works? You can finally get a few answers.

And with that little thought of hope, you struck the match, dropping it into the collection of spices and other things that you’d gathered.

The flames hit the spices and caused immediate smoke, and you started to choke on it. You turned your back from it, coughing into your sleeve. As you started to gain a headache from your coughing fit, the only thing you could actually think about was that this had better bloody work. You didn’t want to have had a painful coughing fit for nothing…

But over the sound of your spluttering, you could hear… something. What was it? The vague sound of… the flapping of wings? Your immediate thought was of an owl or some other bird roosting in this abandoned building, but… no. Far too close, far too loud for that. You sharply turned around in the direction of the noise, still covering your mouth with the cuff of your jacket.

And there it– he, you should say, as it was a male –just a few feet away from you. Balthazar, if the book had been correct. Your hand dropped and you couldn’t help but stare for a moment or so at the being in front of you, just… stunned. In those moments you started to take in what he looked like, the angel that you’d just called. He was tall, or at least when compared to you. Somewhat muscular, regular complexion, rough chin, blue eyes, brownish hair…

None of it much mattered, of course, but you couldn’t help but be fascinated. That dumb book had been right. You’d actually summoned an angel…

He blinked at you expectantly, waiting for you to say something or give some kind of an explanation.

“Well?” he spoke with a strong, accented voice, tinged with impatience.

You looked at him sharply, making eye contact. You spoke, attempting to speak with more confidence than you actually had.

“Balthazar?” you questioned, deciding to clear up if it was who you had expected to arrive. Well, you hadn’t even expected it, more hoped…

“Yes,” he responded, still clearly a little impatient.

You stopped still, realisation finally hitting you. You turned back to look at the book you’d abandoned on the table.

“It worked…” you muttered, mostly to yourself. “It actually worked…”

Balthazar addressed that with an unimpressed glare.

“Yes,” his tone was growing evermore impatient, blinking expectantly at you again, “That worked. Now, would you care to tell me why you’ve summoned me here, at the dead of night, in the middle of nowhere?”

You exhaled deeply, your breath forming a temporary mist in front of your features. You’d been so wrapped up in hoping that this strange ritual of sorts would actually summon something that you hadn’t really thought about what you were going to say to them if they did appear.

“I just want a couple of answers, that’s all.” You spoke simply, making sure that you came across as meaning no harm.

“I’m sorry.” he asked, his tone was a little irritable. “And what makes you think that I can give them?” He blinked, taking a step forwards.

For a moment or two, you watched his footsteps closely, but diverted your attention quickly back to the notebook. You collected it from the table, quickly flicking through the pages. Finding the one you were looking for, you held it out to him. The page in question, and the ones that followed it were completely covered in scribbles of some kind. At a first glance you’d written them off as just that, scribbles, but upon closer inspection you’d noticed that there were what looked to be a lot of repeated marks and symbols. You’d guessed that it was some kind of strange language, not a human one, and also had a fairly good idea about what it was.

“It’s Echokian, isn’t it?” you spoke in a slightly breathless, assertive tone. You tried sounding more confident than you actually felt, and that you knew more about the subject than you actually did. He had to take you seriously. You tried pushing the book into his hands, but he really didn’t seem interested.

“It’s angel writing, isn’t it?” you repeated yourself, trying to get a response from him. You were starting to get a little frustrated. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

But the angel remained silent, refusing to give you an answer.

“Aren’t I?” you spat, now getting angry at the lack of co-operation. You pulled a small tupperware jar from your jacket, pulling off the lid and throwing the contents at him.

He blinked, a disgusted look gracing his features. He brushed the tiny white granules from his black jacket and vest, taking a step backwards. None of it had taken any effect whatsoever. The only thing that it had done was irritate him. Fantastic.

“The book said salt works on most things!” you spoke in an exasperated tone, by now getting very annoyed.

You studied his feet for a moment, a little stunned and even more ticked off. You threw the book and empty tupperware tub on the floor, struggling to contain how frustrated you were getting.

Balthazar’s eyes flicked to the floor, shuffling his feet around a little. Shifting some of the loose hay, he spotted a devil’s trap that you’d marked in, and he’d just conveniently stepped out of. He shook his head a little, looking back over at you.

“Tell me, how much do you actually know about angels? Because it doesn’t seem to be an awful lot, does it?” His tone was dripping with exasperation.

You rubbed your eyes a few times, bringing some life back into them. Your tiredness was becoming evermore apparent, and you were on edge. Sighing, you sank down onto a nearby set of dusty, wooden stacking crates. You allowed your head to fall into your hands as you responded.

“Only the stuff that the dumb book said,” you grumbled, “At least, what I remember from it. I wasn’t even really expecting that stupid thing to work, it’s all madness! I know you speak and write in another weird language, something called Enochian or something else like that. I know that everything went to shit when two of the archangels fought, the devil and someone else, and then your dad vanished. Something about using vessels or skin suits too. Little else than that. The book’s bloody useless. Don’t know what I was expecting though, the only reason I tried was because I thought it might have a couple of clues about what happened to my dad…”

His stare had a patronizing edge to it, which was reflected when he spoke again.

“So, let me get this straight. Daddy goes missing, and you, a little kid, find an old book that tells you how to summon an angel. And in your infinite wisdom, knowing barely anything about how dangerous that could be. And then, just for good measure, you decide to try and trap that said angel down here. Did you honestly think this would go well? You honestly thought that this was a good idea.”

You weren’t looking at him as he spoke, but you could feel every last ounce of his dark glare. You’d been biting down on your tongue, trying to stay calm, but he’d struck a nerve. You looked up, sharply, and glared back at him. You weren’t going to take being mimicked again. You were not going to take this from an angel of a lord. You weren’t about to take it from anyone. You’d had enough of this before you even came here this evening, and this was enough. You’d had it. And this angel was about to find that out. With your cheeks flushing a faint rose pink, you made eye contact with him.

“Yes, actually.” You bit back, giving him a cold, hard stare, your tone glowering. You rose sharply to your feet again, taking a step towards him. “Yes, I did. Do you want to know why?”

You gave him no time to respond to you.

“Because I didn’t know what else I could do. Was it a smart decision? Probably not. Should I have thought everything through properly? Definitely. But what do you expect a ‘little kid’” you made the motion of quotation marks two fingers, using his words to describe you and quote them straight back at him when you responded, “ To do when they come across something like this? Strange bunch of squiggles on a page, looks like some kind of a foreign language. I studied that stupid thing hard, it said something about a language of the angels. Enochian, whatever it’s called. I’m hardly going to sit there whilst my life’s turned upside down, and I? In a couple of days I’m getting dragged three states over to stay with my grandparents that I hardly know because my father’s disappeared. He didn’t run away, which is what they’re trying to tell me, and I know it.” You breathed in and out deeply, continuing with your rampage.

You were barely paying attention to the angel at this point, scarcely noticing his slow change in expression towards you. It was softening, if only slightly.

You looked him in the eye again, feeling yourself tear up.

“I was the one that reported him missing to the cops. I came home from school, dad wasn’t there. Went up to his room… whole place was a mess. Not like him at all, because normally everything’s really tidy and it all has its place.”

You wiped your eye with your cuff, letting everything go. It was the first time you’d found yourself able to talk about everything since it’d happened.

“Not when I walked in there. The entire room was like a bombsite. The bed was ripped up, things knocked on the floor…” you pinched your eyes tightly shut for a moment, shaking a little as you recalled everything. “There was blood on the walls. His car was still there in the driveway. They cannot expect me to just buy the story that he ran away, because I just know that just didn’t happen. So what am I supposed to do?”

You looked him straight in the eye again, but not in anger. You just felt hopeless. You let a couple of tears drop from your eyelids, making no attempt to stop them. Why should you? Your vision blurred, and you could feel the stinging of tears.

“I did the only thing I could think of. The book said how I could summon an angel. Angels would at least be able to tell me if those scribbles were Enoki…whatsit. They’d probably be able to tell me if it was indeed something to do with my dad’s disappearance. It’s got to be, because I’ve no idea what the hell else it can be. Yeah, I might be a ‘little kid’ in your eyes, but I’m not stupid. Something must have happened to make my dad disappear.”

You coughed a little on your tears, unable to see past them. You couldn’t help the frustration that started seeping out in your voice as you spoke. You were so damn mad at everything right now.

“You think we’d be able to relate! Daddy goes missing and we don’t know where he’s gone. But you know, it’s fine. Apparently I’m not worth your time, you’ve clearly got a lot more important things to do than just explain what a few simple squiggles on a page mean so some fucking nobody can try and move on with their life. So please, just cut the patronizing comments. I get enough of those every single day from the teachers, police officers, neighbours, and every other person on the planet. You’ve made it perfectly clear that you’re not going to help, so please. Get your feathery ass back up to heaven, and shove off and do whatever it was you were doing before I called you. I’m so terribly sorry for the disturbance!”

You couldn’t have spared him another glance if you’d wanted to. Taking yourself over to the nearest wall, you pressed your back up against it and slid down, hugging your knees tightly as you started to let everything out. You were completely blinded by tears, everything finally catching up with you. Your dad was gone, and you were probably never going to see him again. You were going to be dragged off three states over to live with your grandparents, which you barely knew, and leave behind everything that you ever knew. And this angel, who had every power and ability to give you the answers that would grant you the closure you needed was refusing to give you that.

You wanted out of it. You’d had enough, of just about everything. You wanted your life back, but you knew that that wasn’t going to happen. You’d had enough of the dumb stuff you’d discovered in that old book, your dad’s journal. And you’d definitely had more than enough of the angel going by the name of Balthazar. The amount of time and energy you’d invested in gathering the things together, finding a place to do it, summoning up courage and energy to do it… for nothing.

You’d just about had enough of it. That little comment that your dad had made in the margins of his summoning spell had been correct; angels were complete douchebags…

You were disturbed from your crying after a few minutes, which had been enough time for you to completely drench the knees of your jeans and cuffs of your sleeves with your tears. Coughing up a couple of tears stuck in your throat, you looked up. The angel was knelt uncomfortably on the ground in front of you, with your father’s journal in his hand. After a couple of moments, he broke the silence that had formed.

“I… was able to translate what your father had written on those pages.”

You blinked back a couple of tears, just staring at him for a moment or two.

“What are you still doing here?” you spoke bitterly, a sob building up in your throat and threatening to come out at any moment, “There’s clearly nothing holding you here, we already established that.”

He neglected to answer your question, shuffling some of the hay on the floor about with his foot instead.

“The writings were indeed in Enochian. Your father’s journal did tell me enough to piece together what happened, but I’m afraid you’re not going to like what it says.” His voice was a little grim, but he continued talking. He looked you squarely in the eye, giving you a moment to take in just how pretty his were. “Are you sure you want to know what happened?”

You sniffed, clearing your throat and looking him dead in the eye. You could scarcely believe what you were hearing, but you weren’t about to question it. You needed these answers, and if this angel was going to give you them…

“Please,” you spoke with an… almost pleading tone, your eyes still a little bit glassy from crying, “I need to know. I don’t care how upsetting it is. I need closure. I can’t just get dragged over three states and be expected to start my life over without knowing anything…”

The angel simply nodded, understanding what you meant. He offered you a hand and lead you back to the pile of stacked crates that you’d perched on earlier, brushing the dust off them before taking a place beside you. He placed the open journal on his knee, the page open at where all of these scribbles– angel language, as you now knew it was –started. With two fingers, he traced across the lines of these strange symbols, reading them through once more. He remained silent for a few moments, probably thinking of how he could summarize what was written on the page.

“About… ten years ago, your mother was in a traffic accident, yes?”

“Yes…” you nodded, responding quietly. You’d only been little at the time but remembered it well enough; how worried your father had been, calling in a neighbour to take care of you whilst he spent that time with your mom in hospital. However, you weren’t quite sure of it’s relevance. “Why?”

“Well,” he began uneasily, “It says that she was in a very grave condition from it. She wasn’t actually supposed to live through it… so your father made a deal.”

“A deal?” you looked at him uncertainly. Asking cautiously, “With who?”

He paused a moment before responding, as if wondering if it was a good idea to tell you or not. It seemed that after an uneasy moment, he decided to tell you the truth. Enough people had lied to you recently, and he didn’t need to add to that list.

“A crossroads demon.”

You blinked, confused.

“A…what?”

“A crossroads demon.” He repeated, his words a lot softer than they had been earlier in the evening. “He made a deal with one to save her life. His life for hers.”

You paused a moment, letting it sink in. So ten years ago, he made a deal to save her life from the traffic accident. You smiled for a moment, sniffing.

“He always loved my mom…” you revealed sadly, “He was never quite the same after…” you broke off, unable to finish your sentence. It was only a couple of years ago since her death, and only somewhat recently had you managed to get your life back together after that. The cancer that had eventually killed her had made a massive strain on the entire family.

Balthazar remained quiet, neglecting to ask any questions. Quite possibly he recognized that you were already upset enough as it was, without asking any more upsetting questions. You weren’t sure.

You looked back at him, a question bubbling up in your mind.

“Why… why now?”

He offered you a fake smile, but that faded in an instant. He sighed, responding sadly.

“Crossroad demons will give you ten years before they cash in on their deal on the soul that they’ve bargained for. It’s just common practice, the way that they work. If everything in this journal and that you’ve said to him is true… it was just his time. The hellhounds came for him.”

You fell silent, chewing over what he told you. Hellhounds. A deal with a demon. His time had come…

“So… he’s gone?” you tried to keep a brave face, but unable to hide the crack in your voice as you spoke, “And he’s… not coming back…”

“Yes,” he nodded, seeming genuinely sad about it, “And… I’m afraid that there’s nothing that I can do…”

You fell silent, your head resting in the palms of your hands. You could feel tears building up again, but it wasn’t anger this time. It was grief… despair…

Perhaps you’d always known, deep inside, that your dad was gone. That he wasn’t coming back, that he couldn’t. But there’d been that little spark of hope that possibly, maybe, he wasn’t gone. After all, you hadn’t known. He could have been on the run from something, maybe he was out hunting, who knows…

But all of that hope was gone now: you knew the truth. The heartbreaking truth of it all. He was gone, taken by the hellhounds.

There was just something in the finality of knowing that he was gone, that he wasn’t coming back, that really, really crushed a part of you inside. Unlike with your mother a couple of years earlier… there had been no such thing as a goodbye.

And it was just something really difficult to swallow.

You could feel a hand on the back of your shoulder, rubbing it gently. You didn’t need to look to see who it was, Balthazar was the only living creature in the room with you. You didn’t really want to move much right now. You didn’t like the thought of going back “home” to where you were supposed to be spending the night. Life really sucked right now.

“I’m sorry…” he spoke softly, rubbing at the back of your shoulder. He was extremely gentle, more so than you would have expected.

You spared him a glance.

“It’s fine.” You lied quietly, but you knew he’d see through it. Even though he was still pretty much a stranger, he’d know better than that. He’d just delivered some pretty upsetting news. It was fairly obvious that things weren’t fine.

Sighing, he offered out his arms for a hug. You took a few moments consideration before accepting, gingerly wrapping your arms around him. Moments later, you could feel two strong arms wrap around your small frame, holding you close. After another few moments, you could feel him rest his chin on the top of your head, and pull you in just a little closer still. He slowed down his breath rate, and you subconsciously began to mimic it. With the side of your head pressed up against his chest, you could hear the calming rhythm of his heartbeat. Well, the human he was using. The journal referred to them as vessels… whatever. The sound of his heartbeat was soothing, allowing you to start to relax, if only a little bit.

After a few moments, you swore you could feel… something. It brushed past the back of your thigh. It may have just been your mind playing tricks on you, but it felt like… feathers. It made sense, and it was entirely possible that he’d just wrapped a set of invisible wings around you. And honestly, this was the most secure and safe that you could remember feeling in months. Because simply… what was the worst that could happen to you when you were literally in the arms of an angel?

You remained like that for quite a few minutes, with Balthazar stroking your shoulder, your back, and sometimes the back of your head, his fingers entangling in your hair. It was a bit of a mess, to be honest, because you hadn’t brushed it in days. It was also quite possible that you smelled a little bit too, because you hadn’t showered either. You were definitely a little bit worse for wear, and it was showing.

“You’re tired, aren’t you?” he finally spoke, breaking the utter silence that had formed. It wasn’t so much a question as a statement, so you didn’t see the point in lying to him. You just shrugged.

“I haven’t slept much since he went missing,” you admitted, speaking mostly into his jacket, “There was too much going on, I couldn’t get my mind to rest.” Your eyes fell to a few salt crystals that were still stuck to his blazer, from how you’d thrown some at him earlier. You brushed it off, the rough texture they then caused rubbing a little on your cheek as you stood huddled into him. If you were to speak the entire truth, you hadn’t slept in the past two days at all. You’d been far too busy reading up on how to summon an angel, what you needed to find and then intently trying to get your hands on it. All of it just in the meagre hope that it’d bring him here.

Quietly, you considered yourself fortunate that it had. It had been the best luck you’d had all week, without exaggeration. You hadn’t been able to let any of it go or hug anyone at all before the angel had arrived. People had tried comforting you, but it hadn’t done anything. If anything, they’d just made you feel worse. True, that wasn’t even remotely the reason you’d called for him, but you weren’t going to push away the only source of comfort that you had. Honestly… you needed that comfort.

And he’d probably recognized that.

“You’ve done well, considering.” His words were unexpected, and you were a little confused.

“Huh?” you looked up for a moment, not moving from your spot cuddled into his blazer.

He kept one arm wrapped around your back, indicating to the ritual you’d used to summon him with the other one. Then, he also indicated to the devil’s trap you’d painted on the floor.

“Some adult hunters wouldn’t know how to put a summoning spell together after several nights with little sleep, or be able to paint a perfect devil’s trap. Which isn’t bad, considering that you’re not a hunter and you’re still young, as well as being tired.”

You simply shrug in a response to that. You’re becoming a bit too tired to string full sentences together now. He smiled faintly, rubbing the back of your shoulder again.

“Do you have a home you need to get back to? Somewhere to sleep?” he asked a few moments later. He seemed to appreciate your need for rest.

“Yeah,” you grumbled, pulling yourself back from him at last. It was probably about time that you thought about going back by now. “About a mile away from here. An old farmhouse. Guess I’d better start walking back…”

You felt him take your arm, and you looked up in a confused manner. Looking around, you became even more confused.

Because you weren’t in the abandoned barn any more. You were three quarters of the way up the path to your front door.

You looked confusedly to where the angel was. He offered you a half-smile. It was only a half-smile, but it seemed genuine.

“How did you…?” you asked, but he didn’t appear to be listening. He’d walked up into your porch, taking a look at the patio swing. Picking up an old blanket that had been abandoned there, he took a place on it. He looked back at you, beckoning you to join him.

A little baffled, you shrugged, walking up the creaky wooden steps, onto the porch.

He shuffled over to one end of the swing, leaving enough space for you to comfortably sit. As you took the place next to him, he wrapped an arm around you, loosely draping the blanket over your lap.

“What’re you doing?” you mumbled, not really resisting. You were just a little confused.

Using one foot, he gently kicked off, and started to swing. It was a very gentle motion, but quite calming. You blinked a couple of times, struggling to keep your eyes open.

“You’re tired,” he said simply, “And you need some rest. I’d like to make sure you get it.”

“But…” you tried responding to that, but he shushed you.

“Sshh…” he murmured, adjusting the blanket so that it covered you better. You could vaguely feel the texture of rough wool rub over your hand as he did so.

As you slowly leaned into his shoulder, closing your eyes, you swore that you could feel it again. The faint feeling of feathers brushing past your back and over your arm. It didn’t matter though, it wasn’t important. If anything, it felt comforting.

Quietly, he began humming. There was no particular tune to it, but that didn’t matter. As you felt yourself gently rock back and forth on your front porch, next to an angel, a literal angel, it gave you something else to focus on. A tiny voice in the back of your head questioned if you should be trusting him at all. You’d met him only an hour ago, if that. And now you were pressed up next to him, gradually drifting off to sleep.

You hushed that voice, listening into the gentle sounds of his humming. This was an angel of the lord, right? You could trust an angel. What was the worst that he was going to do to you?

Focused on the repetition of his breathing, you felt your body relax. This was the calmest that you’d been in days. Smiling faintly, you let go, drifting off into waves of calm, deep, comforting sleep.


End file.
